


Ferdibert Week 2019 Fics

by AceCavalier



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Ferdibert Week 2019, First Dates, Fluff, Hanahaki Disease, Love Confessions, M/M, Misunderstandings, Online Dating, Prompt Fic, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:20:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21627484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceCavalier/pseuds/AceCavalier
Summary: My collection of short fics for Ferdibert Week 2019!Chapter 1: HanahakiChapter 2: Modern/Vampire
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 25
Kudos: 119





	1. White Flowers, Red Flames

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first real contribution to the Ferdibert ship and I'll admit to being a bit nervous. I'm still learning about these two and their dynamic, but the ship is really sweet and I love both Hubert and Ferdinand as characters, so I thought I'd give writing them a try!
> 
> I'll have posted for most days, but I do plan to join the Day 2 and 3 prompts... stay tuned for that odd little piece! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading this, and I appreciate each and every comment! Sorry if I get any of the characterisations wrong (Hubert is a bit on the mean side), I'll get better as I go/as I get through playing CF.

Ferdinand’s cough was becoming a problem.

It had started as little more than an itch in his throat, a potential threat of an approaching cold, and he endeavoured to give himself plenty of rest and drink even more herbal tea than usual to ensure it wouldn’t worsen, and soon enough the itch had faded. That was, at least, until he had been speaking to Edelgard a few days later, and his throat had suddenly started to burn.

“M-My apologies,” he had stammered, beating a fist against his chest, “I s-seem to have, ahem, something c-caught in my throat…”

Turning about in shame, hoping to get some space between him and Edelgard before he started coughing and hacking in a most undignified fashion, Ferdinand bumped straight into Hubert; his classmate had approached without him even hearing. At that stage words were well beyond him, so he merely shoved Hubert aside and hurried out of their classroom, ignoring Edelgard’s call after him or the strange look Hubert shot him.

The coughing bouts came and went as they pleased, seemingly without any pattern and certainly without warning. Ferdinand could be sitting in class listening to Professor Byleth give some half-hearted lecture about tactics when his throat would sting and his lungs were filled with fire, and he would be coughing and spluttering into his hands like a man with the plague. At times it would get so bad that his head would spin from lack of air and he feared he would pass out at his desk. One particular fit was so violent that Byleth demanded he take himself to the infirmary for treatment. He could barely stand, let alone put one foot in front of the other, so Hubert had volunteered to take him there.

“Do you truly… just enjoy… seeing me suffer?” Ferdinand wheezed between coughs, one arm clinging to Hubert’s shoulders.

Hubert chuckled, an oddly threatening sound. “I wouldn’t say that I _didn’t_ enjoy it, but that’s not the reason I offered to help.”

“Then… why?”

“Because, as irksome as your presence is to Lady Edelgard, it would be even more irksome to watch you die from the flu.”

If he’d had the energy, Ferdinand would have been angry at him, but he was too preoccupied trying to get some air into his aching lungs. It wasn’t unusual, of course, for Hubert to prod at him like this; his classmate seemed to delight in tormenting him, no matter how hard Ferdinand tried to establish a friendship between the two of them. So when Hubert’s hand slipped around his waist to help support him, Ferdinand was more than a little surprised. Hopefully the red blush across his cheeks could be excused as a lack of air.

After downing the most vile concoction he had ever had the misfortune of tasting and two days of enforced bedrest, Ferdinand was feeling as good as new. There was still a lingering tightness in his chest, a weight he couldn’t quite shake off, but he put it down to part of the recovery process and was discharged by Manuela the day before the battle of the Eagle and Lion, which he was determined not to miss. It was, after all, the perfect opportunity to prove to Edelgard that he was not only at her level in terms of grades and politics, but also on the battlefield. He assured himself it had nothing to do with the fact that his father would undoubtedly hear of his performance and be furious with anything less than outstanding.

Thanks to Byleth’s strategies and Edelgard’s stoic leadership, the Black Eagles had, despite a fierce struggle with the Blue Lion house and some quick-thinking ploys by the Golden Deer, emerged victorious, and there’d been no trace of a cough to distract Ferdinand from fighting at his very best.

It seemed to him that, at long last, his brief struggle with the flu was well and truly over, and let himself celebrate the fact alongside their victory at the large feast Claude had proposed the three houses share with each other. The spread wasn’t exactly lavish, but Mercedes of the Blue Lions had baked sweet treats for them, and Hilda of the Golden Deer had managed to persuade Seteth into allowing them some blackberry wine for the occasion, and students from all houses were chatting and laughing and enjoying themselves, all rivalries and differences temporarily forgotten.

Ferdinand had been well into his second cup and discussing the intricacies of noble life in the Alliance with Lorenz when the much-dreaded sensation in his throat returned. With little more than a babbled farewell, Ferdinand hurriedly set his cup down, spilling wine over his gloves, and dashed out of the dining hall, slamming the door shut behind him just seconds before his chest heaved and the coughing started once again, worse than ever. It was as though something was trying to squeeze its way out of his body, trying to crawl out of his throat, scratching and clawing as it went. He’d never felt anything worse in his life.

By the time it passed, leaving him gasping and trembling on his knees, Ferdinand felt like he’d fought the mock battle ten times over. The wine must have been getting to him, too, for he swore, as he blinked down at the grass, that he could see small, white petals that hadn’t been there before his fit had begun.

“Ferdinand?”

He yelped in surprise, lurching up from his knees only for the world to sway around him and his vision to darken. His shoulder hit something – the wall, he assumed – and he was able to steady himself until his head settled and his vision returned. When it did, he blinked up into Hubert’s worried expression.

“ _You!_ What are you doing here?” Ferdinand realised that what he’d thought was the wall was in fact Hubert’s chest, and staggered back. “What do you want?”

Hubert scowled, any of his previous worry quickly set aside. “I saw your ridiculous exit and Lady Edelgard told me to check on you. She thought you’d had too much to drink.”

“Of course not!” he squeaked, wincing at how ragged he sounded. “I… must have over-exerted myself today, that is all. I should be well again with some more rest.”

A huff from Hubert. “You’re no good to Lady Edelgard in such a state. How do you possibly intend to serve her spending so much of your time in bed? It’s pathetic.”

This time, the sting wasn’t in his throat or lungs, but in something far worse: _his heart_. Perhaps it was the exhaustion he felt, or that Hubert’s words had struck a weakness Ferdinand had been trying to deny, but something in Ferdinand snapped. Before he even realised what he was doing, he shoved Hubert away from him, hard enough to almost knock him over.

“ _You_ are the pathetic one!” he shouted, hating how close to tears he was. “All you ever do is follow Edelgard around and look down on the rest of us! You… You are mean and spiteful and… and I cannot stand you!” Hubert’s expression was impassive, unchanged, but he didn’t resist when Ferdinand pushed him again. “Would it truly be so hard to be nice to someone for a change? Is it so hard for you to fathom having friends? Just… Just leave me be!”

There were definite tears in his eyes now as Ferdinand stormed away, marching off towards the dormitory. His chest was on fire, his whole body felt bruised and weak, but it was nothing compared to the sudden, inexplicable pain in his heart, a hollow, stabbing feeling that got worse and worse with each step he took. Once he reached his room and shut his door, he threw himself onto his bed, buried his face in his pillow, and let himself cry.

It was miserable of him to be doing something so childish – pathetic, just as Hubert had said – but Ferdinand couldn’t have stopped no matter how much he wanted to. He couldn’t even say _why_ he was so upset, or why his heart felt like it was shrinking, but he struggled to remember a time he’d ever felt so utterly awful. Was it something about Hubert? Sure, he had a tendency to tease him at every opportunity, but nothing he’d said before had ever hurt Ferdinand quite as much as hearing him snarl the word _‘pathetic’_ at him, or the scorn in his voice when he’d said it. But even if Hubert thought that about him, even if Hubert hated him, why did it upset Ferdinand so much? Why had it shaken the very last reserves of his fortitude? Why did it make him feel like he was dying?

_Literally dying_ , Ferdinand realised, as his sobs bubbled into coughs just as bad as before. He let them come, waiting for it to pass again, only this time it didn’t. Cough after cough, again and again, with no sign of lessening, until he couldn’t even gasp between each one. He stumbled off the bed, trying to reach for the pitcher of water he kept above his desk now, but his legs gave out from underneath him and he was too weak to get up again. There was no more air in his lungs. There was no chance to try and call for help. He felt himself starting to pass out and there was nothing he could do. His limbs went limp, his body numb, and his vision blurred. Then everything went black.

The pain was overwhelming.

Ferdinand groaned as consciousness returned to him, too sore to move, too tired to open his eyes. The ground was unforgiving under him, the woven red carpet doing little to cushion him against the hard floor. How long had he been lying there? Pale sunlight greeted his eyes when he finally dared to try and open them. Morning already, it seemed.

From out in the corridor, the sound of energetic footsteps reached him. They stopped outside his door, followed by a thunderous knock and Caspar’s voice.

“Hey, Ferdie! Ya missed morning class and the professor’s gettin’ worried. Everything ok?”

_No._ “Yes!” _I think I’m dying._ “Everything’s fine, I simply overslept!”

He surprised himself with how normal he sounded; there was barely even a croak in his words. The ache in his lungs had also subsided, at least for now.

“Alrighty,” chirped Caspar. “Our next class it at the training grounds. See ya there!”

Footsteps again, this time darting away, leaving Ferdinand to slowly and carefully pick himself up off the ground and tidy himself up. Or he would have, had he not happened to glance down at the floor as he was standing and notice something that definitely shouldn’t be there.

Petals.

A handful of them, small and white, just near where his head had been. They were crumpled, possibly crushed by him as he slept, and starting to blacken at the edges. Had someone put a flower in his room and he hadn’t noticed? But then where was the flower, and how had its petals ended up in the middle of his floor? Something told him that the sight of those petals was terribly bad news, and he hurriedly scooped them up and tossed them out of the window before getting changed.

It was hard not to notice the way everyone stared at him when he made it to the training grounds a minute or two late, but Ferdinand did his best to act calm, retrieving a practice lance and pairing himself up with Caspar, who seemed to have been waiting for him. At least someone was looking out for him. He held back in their sparring, however, keeping his strikes slow and immediately dropping back whenever Ferdinand seemed out of breath, and it frustrated him to feel like he was being pitied. Why couldn’t this damn flu leave him alone already? If he kept this up, Hubert wouldn’t be the only one who thought he was letting their class down.

Speaking of Hubert, Ferdinand was keenly aware of pale green eyes watching him from the other side of the training grounds. Was he feeling sorry for what he had said the night before? Did he hate Ferdinand even more, now, because of what had been said in retaliation? The better part of Ferdinand felt like he should apologise, but the more childish part refused to let him. It had been Hubert’s fault for saying such awful things to him, after all. Especially while he was feeling so unwell.

When the class had finished and the students dispersed for lunch, Ferdinand pulled Linhardt aside – though he looked less than thrilled about it.

“What is it?” his friend groaned, stifling a yawn. “You’re delaying my much-needed nap…”

“I apologise, Linhardt, but I need to ask a favour of you. I was wondering if, perhaps, you might be willing to use some healing magic on me, to see if it might chase off the last of this cold. I would greatly appreciate it.”

A shrug from Linhardt. “I suppose that’s not too much trouble. Hold still.”

He extended his arm towards Ferdinand’s torso, a circle of patterns and runes appearing around his hand. Ferdinand felt a soothing coolness pass over his skin, a silken caress, before it faded and Linhardt’s hand lowered.

“There,” he said simply. “Now I’m off to nap. Good-bye.”

Ferdinand watched him leave, feeling, impossibly, even more defeated than before. He felt no different. The stinging in his heart was fainter, but still present, and his chest still burned with a few lingering embers. Perhaps he was incurable, and this cold of his would be with him forever.

Or maybe, he began to wonder over the next two days, as a pattern to his coughing began to emerge, his little ‘flu’ wasn’t as natural as he had thought. Thankfully, his coughing was nowhere near as bad as it had been the night he had yelled at Hubert, but it was enough to be a nuisance, and every time it started up again Ferdinand noticed something.

Hubert was always nearby.

In class, when Ferdinand happened to glance over at Hubert and catch him glancing back. In the dining hall, when he caught a rare flash of a smile as Hubert talked to Edelgard. In the training grounds, when Ferdinand became distracted by Hubert as he honed his focus into casting complex spells. Whenever Ferdinand wondered, as he replayed the words he had spoken to Hubert, what had made him so upset that night. In all of these cases, Ferdinand had been instantly overwhelmed by another fit of coughing. The answer was obvious.

The next day, Ferdinand cornered him between classes, catching him by surprise.

“ _You._ ” The word was as threatening as Ferdinand could make it. “You have done something to me, have you not?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hubert hissed, folding his arms across his chest.

“I am certain you do! What is it? A hex? A spell of some kind? A curse, perhaps?”

“Your imagination,” he retorted harshly. “You’re sick, Ferdinand. That’s all.”

“Oh? Then why will it not go away? And why is it always worse when you are nearby?”

“How should I know? If it bothers you so much see a healer. Now get out of my way.”

He made to step around Ferdinand, but escape wouldn’t be so easy.

“I _did_ see a healer and it did not help. There can only be one reason! It must be… ahem, a curse of some, hm, k-kind!” Goddess, why now? Why did he have to have another coughing fit now? “S-See?”

“Ferdinand, that’s ridiculous. You’re an ally to Edelgard, no matter how annoying you might be. What reason would I have to curse you?” He shook his head. “Perhaps this flu of yours is simply worse than you thought. It has nothing to do with me.”

“D-Do not… lie…!” Trying to fight off the urge to cough was only making it worse. It felt like a lump had gotten stuck in his throat, cutting off his airway, but he was determined to get an answer. “Y-You… have d-done… something…”

A wave of nausea slapped Ferdinand hard enough to make him weak at the knees. Perhaps there really was something stuck in his throat – he suddenly felt like he was choking. He couldn’t even cough, and when he opened his mouth to try, he nearly retched.

“What’s wrong?” Hubert actually managed to feign concern. “What is it?”

Ferdinand couldn’t answer. He couldn’t breathe. He was doubled-over, thumping at his chest, but whatever was stuck refused to budge. No air could get past it, let alone words. It was likely only a matter of time before he passed out again, at this rate. His body convulsed and this time he did retch, an awful, wheezing hiss escaping him. He sounded like a cat with a furball, and if he wasn’t afraid of dying from lack of oxygen he might have died from embarrassment.

“Ferdinand!” Hands on his back, but Ferdinand swatted them away. “You need a healer, now!”

Another convulsion, another retch, and finally the lump began to budge enough that he could cough – and he did so with a desperation that only the dying possessed. He tasted something bitter but oddly sweet on his tongue, then with a final cough the wicked thing was spat into his waiting palm. Or rather, _things_.

More petals.

“You… see…” he gasped, staring down at them, at their crumpled white skin and black edges. “What… flu… does this…?”

A little unsteadily, Ferdinand straightened again and held the petals out to Hubert, looking up at his expression. He had expected Hubert to, at best, look at least a little guilty for having put such an awful curse on him, and at worst to flash him that wicked smirk, the same he saved for enemies right before he cut them down. But his expression wasn’t either of those, or even anything close to them. Hubert looked horrified.

“How… How long has this been happening?”

It wasn’t the reaction Ferdinand had expected, and it threw him off.

“The night that we argued… Why? Is this not because of your curse?”

Before Ferdinand could react, Hubert’s hands seized his shoulders, shook him roughly.

“You fool, Ferdinand, I haven’t cursed you!” he growled. “This shouldn’t be happening. Something is _wrong_.”

“You… You mean…” Ferdinand blinked. “So, you… really did not curse me?”

Knowing that Hubert _hadn’t_ been responsible for his wretched situation gave him, for reason he couldn’t quite figure out, an immense sense of relief. It was unfortunately short-lived. Ferdinand looked down at the flowers in his palm; they were turning dark, rotting in his hand, curling in on themselves. Dead.

Panic set in.

When Ferdinand had thought about dying or being incurable before, he hadn’t really believed it. Had thought that, surely, there would be some cure, some way to get better, some magic that could reverse it – but seeing the genuine fear in Hubert’s eyes had finally allowed the truth to sink in.

This wasn’t an ordinary flu. This wasn’t any kind of ordinary illness at all. This was something that couldn’t be cured by ordinary means, and it was _killing him_. And if he couldn’t find a way to fix it soon, it would truly be the death of him.

That was the last coherent thought to pass through his mind before he blacked out, the world fading to nothing more than the sound of Hubert frantically shouting his name, then even that disappeared and he was swallowed up in the void.

Weightless. Painless. Quiet. Was this what death felt like?

It seemed silly to have died in such a way, and at such a young age. Ferdinand von Aegir, future prime minister of the Adrestian Empire, killed by a few stray flower petals stuck in his lungs. What had they even been doing there? Surely, he would have remembered something like breathing in an entire flower. It wasn’t even possible, was it? He tried to think back to when the cough had started, and the darkness around him shifted.

A sunny morning at the monastery. A horse’s whinny, dogs barking, students idling. The smell of Bergamot tea.

“I simply do not know why he has taken such a dislike to me,” he was saying. “I have only ever been polite to him, and yet he seems to look at me almost with… _disdain!_ ”

Soft laughter – Edelgard’s. She sat across from, her hands gently clasping a steaming teacup.

“I don’t he think dislikes you,” she offered. “He’s just… prickly, is all. It’s just his way of taking your measure.”

“My measure, hm?” Ferdinand frowned. “He certainly has a strange way of going about it.”

“I suppose it’s something like a test, of sorts. If anything, it means he’s curious about you. Usually he doesn’t take the time to bother.”

“Curious? About me?”

His vision shifted again. Late afternoon in the Black Eagles’ classroom, sitting alone at a desk, scowling down at the pages of a worn textbook.

“Well, well. The mighty Ferdinand von Aegir, bested by a few drawings on a page? What a sight.”

Hubert seemed to materialise from the shadows, both separate from it and a part of it, flickering in and out of form. Too tired to rise to the bait, Ferdinand just sighed.

“The finer workings of magical runes seem to escape me,” he admitted. “It seems magic simply is not one of my strengths.”

A quiet hum. “You’re overthinking it.” Shadows curling over his shoulder, Hubert’s voice close to his ear, a thundering heartbeat in his chest. “Focus on the pattern in each circle. See how it repeats?”

It was hard to focus on anything. His heart was racing and his mind had gone blank. Deep in his chest, a weight seemed to be taking root.

The next day, chasing after a phantom as he drifted through the dining hall.

“Hubert! I must thank you for your aid yesterday. Without you I would never have gotten my head around those spells. You must allow me to repay the favour somehow.”

For a moment, there was something strange about Hubert’s expression, something unusually honest, but it passed before Ferdinand could place it, replaced by the stern mask he wore so well.

“I couldn’t risk you bothering Lady Edelgard about the matter. And besides, you looked so hopeless even I couldn’t stand it.” He turned back around. “Repay me by keeping well out of my way.”

As Ferdinand watched Hubert leave, there was a faint tickle at the back of his throat.

Why had that rejection hit so hard? Like their argument after the Battle of the Eagle and Lion feast, why had it upset him so much? Why was it that, whenever he spoke to Hubert, whenever he saw him, there was a strange feeling in his heart, barely perceptible? It couldn’t possibly be _feelings_ , could it? Feelings for Hubert, of all people? It had to be. What else could explain that strange feeling in his heart, or the hurt when Hubert shot him down?

How typical of Ferdinand to fall for the man who hated him more than anyone else.

Darkness again, but it felt different. It felt… soft. Not as soft as the bed in his room, but close. The smell was different, too. Or rather, there was a smell now where there hadn’t been one before; a faint scent of herbs, medicine, and alcohol. Ferdinand felt warm. Not from the blanket covering him to his shoulders, but warm from the inside, creeping outwards from his chest in a way that made him feel… strange. Pleasant. Happy.

A voice through the dark, quiet and earnest, more genuine than he’d expected.

“Ferdinand… please…” A hand on his own, gentle. “Please come back to us…”

If he was dead, why did Ferdinand suddenly feel so alive? For the first time in so long, the weight in his chest was gone, and he could breathe freely. Where that same weight had been, he felt as though a part of him, long missing, had at last been returned. Something deep in the centre of his heart.

Daylight. Stone ceiling. Cool air. Ferdinand realised, as his eyes cracked open, that he was in the infirmary again. He wasn’t alone, either. Sitting beside the bed, looking down at him in surprise, was Hubert, red-eyed from lack of sleep and momentarily at a loss for words. At the sight, Ferdinand smiled.

“I thought you said… that watching me die would be irksome…”

For a second Hubert just continued to stare at him, blinking in disbelief. Then, slowly, he began to laugh, and even though it was more out of relief – or perhaps fatigue-induced insanity – than happiness, to Ferdinand it was the most wonderful sound in the world.

“I was wrong,” Hubert managed once his laughter had settled. “Watching you die isn’t irksome at all.” He suddenly went serious, catching Ferdinand off-guard. “It was devastating. I couldn’t stand feeling so helpless as you slipped away right in front of me. I… couldn’t sleep.”

Silence. Ferdinand watched him, wide-eyed, as he looked away, biting at his lip, hesitating.

“I’ve been sworn to serve Edelgard since I was a child. It is my duty to always be at her side, to protect her no matter what is required of me.” Hubert’s voice was quiet, pained. “When I… pushed you away, it was because I was concerned that you would distract me from that duty.”

“Distract you?” Ferdinand frowned. “I suppose you mean that I am an annoyance to you.”

“Ha. At first, yes. But…” Finally, Hubert’s gaze returned to him. The softness in his eyes was… strangely enchanting, and Ferdinand found himself blushing. “When you collapsed in front of me, I was terrified. I realised that losing you would have destroyed me. Because… I care about you.” An awkward cough, a shrug. “Somewhat.”

Ferdinand smiled. “Well, I certainly hope you do, Hubert. I am afraid I think I might care about you, too. A great deal more than I should, in truth.”

Their hands found each other, holding tight, and for a moment all they can really do is smile – Ferdinand too tired for anything and Hubert too shy. Then Hubert’s expression darkens a little.

“What about your illness? Will you be alright?”

The answer was without hesitation. “I have never felt better.”


	2. 10 Signs Your Date Might Be Fake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2: Modern & Vampire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I very nearly decided to ditch this piece completely as I just wasn't happy with it all, but thanks to some excellent advice from my dear friend Meg and some serious tweaking, here it is. I'm not really happy with it, but it's far better than what it was and I hope people enjoy it as something a little humorous.
> 
> Now, onto my very late day 4 piece!
> 
> !!!Content Warnings!!! for mentions of blood and implied/referenced homophobia.

It had been Ferdinand’s first time using an online dating service, and he’d been understandably hesitant, but his loneliness – and the constant pestering from his co-workers – had eventually gotten the better of him. The idea wasn’t a terrible one, he figured. In a city as large as Enbarr it was difficult to meet the right person just walking along the street, and there was a certain appeal to being able to see, at the very least, a person’s interests and dislikes at a glance.

Or so he had thought, until Ferdinand found himself swiping past face after face after face of utterly ineligible bachelors. Too sporty, too much beard, too different, too jock – he had been on the cusp of giving up and resigning himself to a life surrounded by cats when he’d stumbled across someone that made him pause. Roughly his age, close to his area, and looking for a long-term relationship. After a solid minute of consideration, his finger hovering over the little heart button on his phone, Ferdinand decided to take a leap of faith. It was a match.

There was something intriguing about Hubert, something oddly mysterious that kept him ever-present in the back of Ferdinand’s mind, even once he’d set the phone down. From the shadowy profile picture available, he may not have been quite what Ferdinand would consider his ‘type’ – he wore more black than a funeral congregation, and had the air of one, as well – yet despite this he was intelligent, well-spoken, and seemed to have as many similar interests to Ferdinand as he had differences. Their conversations had started awkwardly, as most do, but as they began to delve into details about each other’s lives and hobbies, Hubert had revealed a surprising amount of knowledge regarding classic artists and authors, and for Ferdinand, a self-proclaimed professional history buff, it had taken just one mention of the complexities of Victorian-era art styles to convince him that Hubert could very well be _The One_.

A week after they’d matched online, Ferdinand set aside the latest in his long binge of Gothic horror novels and rolled over to retrieve his phone.

_‘Would you care to meet for dinner?’_

There were a few moment’s pause, long enough that Ferdinand nearly set the phone down again, before Hubert replied.

_‘I would be delighted.’_

Finding a suitable time had been the difficult part, and after a few failed attempts their conversation had waned. The steady lull of work as a history professor swept Ferdinand back up into his usual routine, but Hubert continued to linger in the back of his mind, and on more than one occasion he caught himself checking to make sure there hadn’t been a missed message, or even considering writing one to pick the connection back up again only to chicken out before he’d sent it.

When his phone had dinged and woken him up at the unearthly hour of 3am with the simple message ‘ _8pm tomorrow night?’_ , Ferdinand hadn’t hesitated to set aside any previous commitments. He did, at least, have the sense to wait until a more socially acceptable time – 6:30 the next morning, as he was having breakfast before work – to reply with an equally simple _‘I am looking forward to it’._ Setting his phone down again, Ferdinand shut his notebook on a page scribbled with potential replies and got changed, feeling dangerously close to giddy.

According to Hubert, the restaurant was named Stoker; according to several online reviews, it had excellent food, wonderful service, and an intimate atmosphere. After cycling through five different outfits, spending a good hour tending to his hair, and a short cab trip, Ferdinand walked through the doors of Stoker at 7:58 to find that Hubert hadn’t arrived yet. The host, however, recognised Hubert’s name as soon as Ferdinand offered it and steered him towards the back of the restaurant, where a small table by a window had been arranged for them, complete with a candle in the middle.

As Ferdinand sat and waited, he realised that _intimate_ really had been an apt description for the place – though _dark, brooding, and strangely intimidating_ would have also been accurate. It wasn’t a very large space, made to feel even smaller by the thick black curtains framing the windows, but it was cosy in a rather pleasant way. The dim lighting came from a series of old chandeliers hung from the arched ceiling and candles placed on each table; it somehow seemed very fitting for a man like Hubert. Dark and broody, yes, but surprisingly kind.

At exactly 8:05, Ferdinand noticed the host open the door and give a quiet cheer of welcome.

“Ah, Hubert! Please, come in. Your friend is already waiting.”

The nervous energy Ferdinand had been keeping firmly under control all day suddenly sky-rocketed. At last, he would finally be meeting his date in the flesh! Would he look the same as his photo? What would he sound like in person? More importantly, would he be impressed by Ferdinand? Straightening in his seat, Ferdinand brushed down his clothes and hastily fixed his hair before turning to get a good look at Hubert as he approached.

In truth, despite Ferdinand’s futile attempts to make out his features from the somewhat blurred photos available to him, he had very little idea of what Hubert actually looked like. Now, in the restaurant’s warm light, he was positively _stunning_. The sharp lines of his face were only made more handsome by the shadows, and he wore a red vest under a long, black coat with a high collar. His eyes were an intense pale green that almost seemed to shine through the veil of his dark fringe.

Something about him seemed almost… _ethereal_ , like he had stepped out of another age, and Ferdinand only realised his mouth had dropped open when Hubert gave a strange smile that wasn’t quite enough to show his teeth. He was very likely wondering what kind of uncivilised madman he was about to spend his evening with. Hurrying to compose himself, Ferdinand looked away, pretending to be distracted with something on the table and failing miserably. _Come on, Ferdinand! Get a hold of yourself!_

When Hubert reached their table and Ferdinand rose to shake his hand, he had absolutely not gotten a hold of himself.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Hubert offered, his grip on Ferdinand’s hand surprisingly strong. “You haven’t been here long, have you?”

“Oh, no, not long at all!” He nearly missed his chair as he sat back down. “You look incredible.”

He winced at his own choice of words. _Subtle, Ferdie, subtle._ But Hubert just chuckled, either amused or unbothered – or perhaps both – by his forwardness.

“I’m afraid I pale next to you, Ferdinand. You look even more radiant than your photo suggested.”

_Please don’t blush, please don’t blush, please don’t…_

“It is good to finally meet you in person.” A good way to change the subject, regain control, level the playing field. “You are a difficult man to pin down, Hubert.”

“Ah, my apologies. My work can be unpredictable, and my nights tend to be very busy.”

“Oh? What did you say your work was, again?”

The tight-lipped smile from earlier returned. “I work as a surgeon in the emergency department of the local hospital here. I have the night shifts so I usually spend my days sleeping.”

No wonder he often sent messages at ridiculous hours of the night – the poor man must have been keeping himself awake during the day just to speak with Ferdinand! It might also explain why he was so pale, too – he might only see the sun in brief glimpses, if at all.

“You said you were a history professor, yes?” continued Hubert. “I imagine you must teach at the university.”

Ferdinand flashed his most charming smile. “I certainly do! It keeps me busy, but I enjoy it greatly.”

The host returned to take their orders. After a quick scan of the menu, Ferdinand asked for a glass of white wine and a meal of grilled fish.

“Excellent choice, sir.” The host turned to Hubert. “And I suppose it will be the usual for you, sir?”

“Of course. Nothing to drink.”

When they were alone again, Ferdinand shot him a curious look.

“The usual? You must come here often, then.”

“I do,” Hubert nodded. “I’ll admit I can be… hesitant to try new things.”

“And yet you were brave enough to try meeting a stranger!”

“As were you.” His eyes turned strangely intense – even more so than usual – and Ferdinand tried not to wither under them. “Just what convinced you to trust someone like me, I wonder?”

A very good question.

“I suppose I am curious about you,” Ferdinand admitted. “You are not the type of person I would usually befriend, let alone be interested in dating.”

Hubert’s chuckle was quiet and strangely ominous. “No, I’m certainly not.”

They discussed topics of work and dating and other life stresses as they waited for their meals to arrive. Apparently, Hubert had worked at the hospital only for the past year, having transferred from another hospital further out of town, and had been working night shifts for as long as he’d been a surgeon. Something to do with preferring the subtle mystery of the night and having skin particularly sensitive to sunburns, he mentioned. Ferdinand, in return, told him about life as a university professor, his latest research paper, and the fine art of deciphering essays submitted at precisely 45 seconds before the assignment deadline. Their easy banter barely lulled even once their food had arrived; the grilled fish was beautifully prepared and tasted marvellous, and Ferdinand discovered that Hubert’s ‘usual’ was a steak so raw it nearly got up and walked off the plate, with a side of token salad that remained deliberately untouched. Even his bleak sense of fashion was more colourful than his taste in food.

Regardless, their conversation was warm and friendly, and Ferdinand could have stayed at that table all evening, chattering away about anything that came to mind, if it hadn’t been for the realisation that the clock had wandered dangerously close to eleven and the restaurant was starting to close.

“Has it really been so long?” Ferdinand frowned down at the numbers on his phone, almost wishing he could turn them back. “I suppose I should be getting home before the bus stops running.”

“Allow me to drive you home,” offered Hubert immediately.

“Oh, no, I could not trouble you with…”

“I insist.”

That was that. They split the bill between them after a good few minutes of bickering over each wanting to pay for the other before the host led them out the door and Ferdinand followed Hubert down the street to his car, a sleek black sedan that would have been well-above a professor’s wages. The perks of being a surgeon, Ferdinand supposed. He lowered himself onto the leather passenger-side seat as Hubert pressed the ignition – one of those fancy button ones where you don’t even need keys – and the car was filled with the lively sounds of strings and brass.

“Is that Bach?!” Ferdinand exclaimed, eyeing the stereo. “He is one of my favourite composers, alongside Saint-Saëns and Mozart, of course.”

For a moment, Ferdinand thought he might be treated to a proper smile from Hubert, but he seemed to catch himself.

“I’m more of a Beethoven fan, myself,” he said, “but I’ve always said that _Danse Macabre_ is an underappreciated masterpiece.”

“Absolutely!” A man with an interest in history, art, fine-dining, _and_ classical music? Ferdinand nearly pinched himself. “If I may be frank, Hubert, at times I was uncertain about our compatibility, but I am now starting to wonder if you might be the perfect man.”

A strange look passed over Hubert’s face, any trace of a smile quickly disappearing.

“I promise you, I’m not.”

Before Ferdinand could ask what he meant by that, Hubert steered the car onto the road and accelerated, and it was all Ferdinand could do to hold tight to his chair and keep his eyes fixed ahead of him. The drive was silent apart from Ferdinand’s intermittent directions and the whirling tunes of Bach’s _Allegro_ , and it gave Ferdinand a chance to think. Though he felt comfortable with Hubert, there was undeniably something about him; something _dark_. And Ferdinand, fool that he was, found it far more alluring than he should have – but was that really wise of him?

His head told him to run a mile as fast as he could and never look back, but his heart… His heart said to take Hubert’s hand and never let go. It wasn’t just that he’d finally found someone who seemed to share Ferdinand’s abundant enthusiasm for classical art, fiction, and music, or even that he found Hubert intriguing – it was that, for all his dark attire and strange habits and not-quite-smiles, there was something about Hubert that made Ferdinand want to pry and poke at him until the true man beneath it all was revealed. He wanted to peel back the shadows to find the light hidden underneath them.

Whoever the real Hubert was, Ferdinand desperately wanted to find out.

And, of course, he would be outright lying if he said he wasn’t very much attracted to Hubert in a way he’d never really felt with another man or woman before, or that it wasn’t a definite contributing factor in deciding, as they pulled into Ferdinand’s quiet street outside his house on the city’s outskirts, to make an admittedly rather rash choice.

“Thank you for tonight, Hubert,” Ferdinand began once Hubert had switched off the engine and the car was silent. “I had an absolutely wonderful time.”

“As did I.” His hand made to reach for Ferdinand, hesitated, dropped to his thigh. “It would… be nice to see you again.”

“Yes…” On impulse, letting his instinct override his better sense, Ferdinand placed his hand on Hubert’s, making the other man stiffen in surprise. “I suppose I should thank you for driving me home, as well.”

Hubert swallowed with what Ferdinand could only assume was a sudden bout of nerves. “…Oh?”

“Perhaps… I could make you a cup of tea?”

“Oh.” Pale green eyes blinked. “I drink coffee, actually.”

“I am sure I can make some coffee for you.”

Releasing Hubert’s hand, Ferdinand stepped out of the car, thankful that the dim moonlight helped to conceal his blushing. _Ferdinand, you bold bastard! Inviting a man inside for tea! What a devil you are!_

At the doorstep of Ferdinand’s little cottage home, however, once Ferdinand had unlocked the door and stepped inside, Hubert hesitated. It had taken Ferdinand until a few steps into his front corridor to notice Hubert was no longer following him, and turned around, puzzled.

“Is something wrong?”

He looked more nervous than ever, hands clenched at his sides and a strained look on his face that he tried, and failed, to conceal behind a polite mask.

“N-Nothing at all,” he croaked. His lips pressed together, like he was holding himself back from saying something, and Ferdinand shook his head.

“It is just coffee and tea, Hubert,” he offered gently. “I do not intend to throw my bedroom doors open to you on our first date!”

Hubert looked mortified. “No! No, it’s not that, it’s…”

“I am sorry,” laughed Ferdinand. “I should not tease. Please, do come inside – you can sit in the living room while I make your coffee.”

The effect of his words was immediate. Hubert’s whole body relaxed and he wasted no time in stepping inside as though nothing at all had happened, removing his coat and looking around in fascination at the collections of decorations and artefacts scattered around the small house.

“Your home is… lovely.”

He wandered across to a cabinet strewn with all sorts of odd knick-knacks, his hand hovering over miniature buildings, ceramic dolls, carved wooden symbols, the silver crucifix he had inherited from his grandmother – Hubert’s hand suddenly recoiled and he gave a quiet hiss almost of pain, eyeing it as though it might leap up and attack him. Strange.

“It is small but comfortable,” answered Ferdinand, setting his coat down and moving towards the kitchen. “How do you like your coffee?”

“Black. No sugar.”

Ferdinand grimaced. Goddess, Hubert really _didn’t_ have much taste. He didn’t drink wine, only ate steak, and he could stand something as bitter as black coffee. He wore almost entirely black clothing, preferred night to day, and seemed to have a violent dislike of religious symbols. Just what kind of man - ?

With his kettle in one hand and the other holding the tap on to let it fill, Ferdinand froze.

What kind of _man_ , indeed. Unusually pale and sensitive to the sun. Worked night shifts so that he could sleep during the day. Preferred red meat so raw it was dripping in _blood_.

Of course! Ferdinand was alarmed he hadn’t put the signs together sooner. It could perhaps all come down to unusual habits and preferences, it’s true, but the doorway incident was the final clue. Only with an invitation could Hubert enter a building. But wait, at the restaurant…

Water splashed over Ferdinand’s hand as the kettle overflowed, jerking him out of his thoughts. Switching off the water, he moved the kettle over to the stove and lit it before retrieving two cups from a drawer. It took some thinking back – he cursed the two glasses of wine he’d had – but he was almost certain the host had been the one to open the door for Hubert and… Yes! _Ah, Hubert! Please, come in._

Ferdinand very nearly gave a cry of success before he remembered that Hubert was in the next room over. It all made sense to him now! He had read enough horror novels on this very subject to know the defining traits: the dark clothes and strange behaviour, the odd habits and mysterious responses – of course Hubert had never smiled, as doing so would have revealed the truth.

The man he had met online and who was currently waiting in his living room, _was a vampire_.

All the hours spent reading classic Gothic literature had well-and-truly come in handy now, and Ferdinand sent a silent thanks to every author as the kettle began to scream. Yes, he knew the truth about Hubert’s mysterious air, but what would he do about it? Having a vampire for a partner could have its appeals – _Twilight_ had shown him that – but he didn’t facing become dessert. He had to let Hubert know that he knew, that he wouldn’t be easily defeated, maybe strike up a bargain of some kind with him…

An idea struck Ferdinand, and he turned to retrieve something from his pantry.

When Ferdinand walked into the living area a minute later with two steaming mugs, Hubert was standing in front of the wall, peering at photos of places Ferdinand had visited. Upon noticing his return Hubert was quick to retrieve the darker of the two mugs.

“Thank you, Ferdinand. It’s very kind of you to do this.”

“Of course!” Ferdinand smiled and carefully sat himself down on the sofa. “It is the least I could do as thanks for sparing me a long bus ride home, after all.”

“Mm.” Nodding, Hubert went to raise his mug to his lips but paused, lowering it again. “You’ve visited quite a few places, I see. How old did you say you were?”

Ferdinand had to think for a moment. “28.”

“And you’ve been all across Europe already?” Hubert glanced back at the photos. “And to Africa, half of Asia, Australia… that’s quite an impressive achievement.”

“Yes, well…” Ferdinand coughed and took a sip of tea, burning his tongue, “I… get plenty of holidays with my work.”

“Then these collections of yours are from your travels, I take it?”

“They are, yes.” Why was Hubert suddenly so interested in his travel history? Shouldn’t he be trying to drink Ferdinand’s blood? “Have you travelled at all?”

“At times.” When he wasn’t trying to lure in victims via online dating sites, Ferdinand guessed. “I’m quite busy with my work, I’m afraid.”

“Ah, yes, your _very bloody_ work, I imagine.” It was oddly satisfying to see the way Hubert tensed, his grip on his mug tightening. “It must wreak havoc on one’s appetite, seeing all of that _blood_ all the time.”

“W-Well, I… I’ve gotten used to it by now.”

“Good!” Ferdinand took another sip of his tea, his eyes never leaving Hubert. “Do not forget your coffee, friend. It is best when freshly brewed, I hear.”

Oh, but Ferdinand delighted in having the upper hand like this. To think that a perfectly normal evening date had turned into an opportunity to confront a vampire! What luck! Very clearly nervous now, his eyes struggling to read Ferdinand, Hubert raised his mug to his lips and made to drink. There was a clatter as the mug hit the ground, hot coffee spilled all over his one-of-a-kind Persian rug, as Hubert gave a pained cry, clutching his throat.

“Something the matter, Hubert?” Ferdinand asked, sounding perfectly innocent. “Too hot, perhaps?”

Hubert coughed and spluttered, rubbing the back of his hand across his lips.

“Who puts _garlic_ in _coffee_?!” he spat angrily.

“Not a fan of garlic, hm?”

“I’m _allergic_ to it! You could have _killed_ me!”

“Like you planned to do to me?!” Mug set aside, tea spilling over the edges, Ferdinand jumped up from his seat, reaching for the silver cross on the cabinet. “I am afraid your little act has been uncovered, fiend!”

“What are you…?”

Hubert’s eyes widened in alarm as Ferdinand seized the cross in his hand and thrust it at Hubert, brandishing it like a weapon.

“You made a grave mistake trying to turn _me_ into your next meal, vampire!”

“ _Vampire?!_ What are you talking about?” Taking a step back, Hubert held his hands towards Ferdinand, a feeble attempt to shield himself. “Are you mad?!”

“Ha! Did you think I wouldn’t notice? The pale skin; sleeping during the day; hating garlic – you’re a vampire!”

“I _told_ you, I work night shifts!” Hubert lowered his hands, looking more exasperated than scared. “It was the easiest way to get work as a surgeon when I was starting out.”

“Oh? And your pale skin, then? Your sensitivity to the sun?”

“I burn easily! Having pale skin means I don’t tan, I just burn. That doesn’t make me a _vampire!_ ”

Ferdinand frowned. He was putting up quite a fight to avoid being figured out. “And what about the garlic?”

“Like I said, I’m allergic,” he huffed, shaking his head. “I’ve had a lot of food allergies since I was a kid. At one stage I nearly died from it, and the woman who saved my life inspired me to become a surgeon. It’s why I tend to just eat meat.”

Hold on. His arguments were actually starting to make a lot of sense. Either this was all elaborately scripted or…

Raising the crucifix again, Ferdinand waved it at Hubert, who grimaced.

“I saw you flinch away from this. It’s a cross made of silver: a vampire’s greatest weakness! And you couldn’t enter my house without an invitation!”

The way Hubert tensed and looked away, a sad look falling across his face, hit Ferdinand harder than he expected. It was almost a little too convincing, the way his shoulders slumped his voice went quiet…

“The invitation thing… is a nervous habit of mine. It’s… dumb, I know.” He huffed again and ran a hand over his hair. “I… was homeless for a while. I managed to stay with the few friends I had at the time but I always felt terrible about it. It made me hate walking into their homes.”

“…Oh…”

“As for the crucifix, my parents were strict Catholics. It’s the reason I ended up homeless; they kicked me out when I was 19, after I told them I was gay.”

 _Oh_. _Oh no._

“Now, seeing anything religious reminds me of them. Even now it still affects me.”

“Hubert… Oh, Hubert, I am _so_ sorry, I…” The crucifix thumped against the couch as he tossed it aside. “I am…. _so_ stupid… I cannot believe I got carried away like that! I honestly… Oh, I am so, so sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Hubert shook his head. “I didn’t realise until now how strange it might all seem. And I’m sorry about your rug.”

“Hm? Oh, right! No, do not be, it is my fault, after all. Though I suppose I should clean it up…”

They retrieved some towels and damp sponges from the kitchen and tried to mop up the spilled coffee as best as they could; there would be a stain even with their efforts, a reminder of just how badly Ferdinand had messed up, and a warning to not get too carried away like that again. When it was clear they’d done all the salvaging they could, Ferdinand remade Hubert’s coffee – without garlic, this time – and a fresh tea for himself, before they sat awkwardly together in silence on the couch, sipping at their mugs.

“Hubert, again, I am so sorry about all of that…”

“Don’t be,” he offered, his coffee already half-finished. “It’s made for an interesting night, at least.”

“I suppose that is true.” Ferdinand frowned down at the discarded crucifix. “I imagine this… will be the last time I see you.”

A pause. Hubert shifted in his seat. “Actually, I wouldn’t mind seeing you again. I was hoping we would, in fact. Perhaps something during the day, so I can prove to you that I’m just human.”

There was an undeniable joy racing through Ferdinand. Even after this whole mess, Hubert still wanted to see him again? He still had a chance? He tried not to let his excitement seem too obvious.

“I would like that very much,” he smiled. “Though, if I may be honest, I would have not minded dating a vampire.”

For the first time, Hubert flashed him a smile that showed his teeth. Sharp, but not quite as sharp as a vampire’s.

“You know, if you’re into that, there’s always roleplay.”

Ferdinand, who had just taken a sip of hot tea, spat it all over the newly-cleaned rug.


End file.
